


Orpheus, my heart is yours (always was and will be)

by perfectpro



Series: severed ties [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectpro/pseuds/perfectpro
Summary: Setting her clipboard aside, the bond specialist looks particularly solemn. “Mr. Parson, what do you know about severed soul bonds?”Kent slumps against the wall and allows himself to close his eyes to block out as much light as he can. “Probably more than you do.”





	Orpheus, my heart is yours (always was and will be)

**Author's Note:**

> What's sadder than a severed bond? Knowing that you couldn't have made it work anyways.
> 
> Title from the indie folk opera Hadestown

“Parse, you have to get up,” a voice hisses in Kent’s ear, but Kent can’t manage to open his eyes to see who it is. His stomach is in knots, and everything is too bright, and he’s somehow burning up and freezing at the same time. He doesn’t think that he’ll be able to move until everything dials back to normal, but he doesn’t know when that will happen.

“Kent, can you hear me?” a different voice asks, less desperate and more firm. “Nod if you can hear me,” it says, and Kent can do that much. “Good. Where does it hurt?”

Everywhere is the answer, because Kent can’t breathe and he doesn’t know how this happened. Then someone pushes gently against his leg and he understands, shaking his head as little as possible. “It’s not. It’s my head,” he gasps, the words coming out in something of a whimper.

“When did he hit his head?” the first voice demands, and Kent squints in an attempt to make out who it is, but his vision swims and the lights are overwhelming for the brief moment that he sees them.

People crowd him instantly and their conversation fades into the background as his pain spikes and becomes the only thing that he can focus on. He didn’t think he’d forgotten what this kind of pain felt like, sharp as a knife’s edge and as clean as skates cutting into fresh ice. It was years ago, though, the last time this had happened, and he’d forgotten what the bite of it felt like, pure and indescribable. The closest he’d ever come to identifying it was when he’d read a paper and a subject had said that the combination of pain, horror, and fear was completely blinding.

The feeling doesn’t dim, exactly, but it stays where it is and Kent finally gets to the point where he can almost focus on what people around him are saying. Something about a stretcher, he needs to stay as still as possible, he can’t panic, he needs to nod to show that he understands.

A moment to process that, and then Kent nods just once as he winces from the effort.

“Okay, good, try not to move,” a new voice instructs him, and Kent wasn’t planning on it, actually, and then he is being lifted.

At the motion, the pain washes over him, and when they shift him he leans over and vomits. There’s a collective noise, more than just the few voices he’s heard until now, and the lights seem brighter somehow. Instead of the pain pushing the noise out this time, they seem to work in tandem, the rush of the crowd only adding to the unending torment.

There’s talk around him, the voices a sort of hushed buzzed, about concussions or injuries. “He hadn’t even been hit, he just fell over when I was watching. Did he seem okay after that hit at the end of the first? That’s the only big one he’s had tonight.”

“He seemed fine during intermission,” someone chimes in.

There’s so much movement and noise. Kent can’t even begin to process where he is or what’s going on, but he knows enough to say, “It’s not a concussion.” If this is what concussions felt like, no one would ever come back from one, it could never be worth it when it feels like he’s completely separated from his body or missing all his limbs or some other critical part to himself. It feels like his soul is split open from its very core.

That’s really what’s happening, of course. In the papers he’s read, there’s only ever been one reason for pain like this to return after the initial event. Kent never thought he’d have to go through this again, not when the first time had been bad enough to put him out for so long.

“Don’t try to move, Kent. We’re going to get you to locker room and get you checked out,” a voice announces, the one who’s been periodically talking to him and asking him questions. Then, directed to someone other than him, “Cover his eyes, his light sensitivity is bad.”

The person must do it, because the harsh light seeping through his eyelids is suddenly reduced, and a few moments later the sound of the crowd around them goes quiet, until it’s just the few people who have been speaking to him. There’s some mumbling about where he needs to be moved, and then the main guy instructs, “Set him down here and I’ll do the concussion testing.”

“It’s not a concussion,” Kent repeats, the words almost slurring together. It’s easier to focus on the conversation without the lights and the extra noise, but it’s still impossible to ignore the pain that beats at him relentlessly. “It’s the bond.”

Someone stumbles and Kent shifts too quickly, moaning at the movement as he listens to men curse around him violently. “That’s not on his file,” the main guy states, but he sounds nervous as he does so. “Did he bond recently and not update the file?”

“He never told me if he did,” someone snaps, defensive, and Kent suppresses a groan while he twists away from the sound of their voices. “Parse, hey, buddy, did you bond recently?” he asks, touching Kent as gently as possible and it’s still too much. “There’s no way; he never mentioned anything to the team and he knows we would have been happy for him.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense if it’s not a concussion. Lee, call in Margery, tell her it’s an emergency. I’ll start concussion testing in the meantime.” The main guy seems to be the person in charge, giving out directions before he pauses for a moment and comes closer to Kent to say something.

When Kent passes out, he can’t be sure if it’s from the overwhelming pain or from hearing someone say, “Kent, you’re not bonded.”

-x-

He wakes up in a dim room, one of the training rooms, and he’s been transferred from the stretcher onto a kind of cot. There is still so much pain, but it feels like his body has been processing it, because it doesn’t feel as brilliantly new as before. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out again, at any rate. There’s nausea, but that’s to be expected.

“Mr. Parson, how are you feeling?” a woman asks, and he turns to see her sitting in a corner, looking up from a clipboard. “I’m Dr. Margery Vance, and I’m a bond specialist. Jordan called me in about something that you said before you passed out.”

Kent presses his eyes closed and nods, because he does remember protesting it was a concussion and telling them it was the bond. He’d kept the bond out of his file on purpose, because he knew that the Aces would have been a lot more hesitant about allowing to come to Vegas in the first place if they know they were taking on the risk of a player like that. “I’m not bonded,” he says, and that much is the truth, even though it’s a lie of omission.

From the look that Dr. Vance is giving him, she knows. “While I like to be able to trust what my patients tell me, you’ve hidden your bond from the people who would need to be concerned with that for medical reasons.”

Her voice is too loud, even if she’s not doing it intentionally, and Kent winces as he grips the edges of the cot in an attempt to be able to focus on the words that’s she’s saying instead of just the intense volume that they’re coming in at. “It hasn’t been an issue before this,” he starts, because this is the first time since his rookie season that anything’s come of it. God damn Jack for having to do this while Kent is around people, in the middle of a game.

“What you’re experiencing right now is severe hypersensitivity, a symptom that may take several weeks to go away. This extends to all of your senses, and I would recommend you invest in blackout curtains, cotton sheets, and a white noise machine for the duration of your recovery,” she announces, having caught him flinch at the sound of her voice. “I would also say that you shouldn’t touch your spice cabinet for a while.”

“Weeks?” Kent asks, pleading. “How long until I can play again?” Because last time it was only just over a month before he can manage to be on the ice again. The worst month of his life, yes, but it was only two weeks before most of his symptoms calmed down.

Dr. Vance pauses, mouth in a severe line. “From what I’ve seen, I would be very surprised if you were able to do a no-contact skate in two months. I will say that I can give you a better timeline once we’ve talked about your bond.”

Two months before even getting on the ice again. That’s totally out of the playoffs, even if they do go all the way. His stomach rolls, and Kent breathes through his mouth carefully. “You’ve already diagnosed me,” he surmises, because if he was passed out long enough for someone to get him out of his gear and into sweatpants and a T-shirt, he was out long enough for any bond specialist worth their salt to run some diagnostics.

He’s never seen any doctors who have done extra training in bonding before, but he’s read enough to know a fair amount. After the first time, he got curious and did some research, so he’s aware of what the condition is called, and he’s also aware of how hard it is to treat. Once he’d found those things out, there didn’t seem to be much else that could be done for him, so he didn’t bother seeking treatment. He doesn’t know what this woman is going to tell him that he doesn’t already know.

Setting her clipboard aside, the bond specialist looks particularly solemn. “Mr. Parson, what do you know about severed soul bonds?”

Kent slumps against the wall and allows himself to close his eyes to block out as much light as he can. “Probably more than you do.”

-x-

When she leaves the room, Dr. Vance gives him her card in case he should need it, and then he hears her heels as she goes down the hallway. She’ll tell the coaches, and then the secret’s out. Kent was never very good at keeping them anyway.

A severed bond is a medical condition so serious that no team in their right mind would keep a player on with that diagnosis. There was a reason Kent kept it to himself, beyond the simple fact that he didn’t exactly want to talk about it. A severed bond is detrimental to an immune system and can be the source of many mental health problems. After six years, it’s probably a miracle that Kent’s doing as well as he is.

Realistically, Kent knew that it would happen at some point. He hadn’t wanted it to, but it’s not like he and Jack are ever going to get back together, especially not after that disastrous confrontation at Samwell. Kent should know better by now, but he’s always been a glutton for punishment. Everyone knows that a severed bond can’t be mended through any means, even if both parties are willing to try.

So Jack is bonded again. Over the next few months, Jack is going to experience all of the joys of being newly bonded to someone that he has an undeniable connection with, and Kent is going to basically going to have to bubble wrap his entire house and put blackout curtains on the windows to keep from being nauseated by too much light showing through.

There’s a soft knock at the door, and Kent closes his eyes just before the door opens and light from the hallway comes in.

The door shuts, and Kent squints just enough to see Coach Hutchinson standing in front of him. “A severed bond, kid?” he asks, lifting a chair and setting it down so they can talk.

“I’ve been handling it fine. I would have handled this fine, too, if it hadn’t happened in a game,” Kent says, because it’s true. He doesn’t know how he would have explained away him having to miss several months if it didn’t take place during the offseason, but when he got back it wouldn’t have been a problem.

Coach shakes his head, seemingly exasperated by Kent’s answer, and Kent can’t find much else to do about it other than shrug. “I know you didn’t tell Dr. Vance, but we need to know. How long has it been severed?”

Swallowing, Kent looks down and admits, “Six years. It broke before the draft and was severed a month later.”

There’s a hiss of breath as Coach thinks it over, clearly doing the math in his head. “So your rookie year it had been severed that summer. Makes me wonder what kind of records you could have broken with a completed bond,” he jokes, and then winces.

Kent has thought about that before, but it’s a pretty useless thought in all honesty. Severed bonds never heal or grow again, so it’s not like Kent’s ever going to find out the answer to those questions.

“If it’s been severed for a while, this, um, episode means that… It’s done from here?” Coach asks, tentative like he’s scared to be wrong.

Severed bonds hurt like this twice. Once when the bond they were connected to is repaired, because broken bonds can still fit together in a jagged way but the sharp edges of a broken bond have nowhere to fit to one that’s fixed. The second time they hurt is when the repaired bond leaves because it’s formed a new bond and the severed bond no longer has anything to even try to connect with.

Legend has it that the bond aches a third time, when the member of the repaired bond dies. No one is sure, though, because it’s so rare that someone with a severed bond would outlive someone with a healed bond.

“Yeah,” Kent manages. “He bonded to someone else, I guess.” While the pain hasn’t diminished since he’s woken up, it spikes at this admission, and he bites his lip to try to focus on something else, like the way that Coach is shaking his head slowly at him, disappointment evident in his features.

Sighing, Coach leans back in his chair. “I wish you’d have told us what kind of risk you were running with this, but I understand why you didn’t. We can talk more about this when you’re feeling better. Swoops will drive you home. Dr. Vance said you can stay by yourself unless you don’t feel well enough to do that,” he tries, the question evident in his voice.

Kent can’t imagine staying with another person for the time being, their thoughtless sounds that would flow through the house. “I’m fine on my own,” he says, gripping the edge of the cot as he goes to stand.

Swaying on his feet, he keeps a hand on the wall until he’s steady. Coach watches him skeptically, but he’s surely seen enough hockey players power through pain before, so he doesn’t say anything, just nods and hands Kent the sunglasses he must have gotten from Kent’s own equipment bag.

-x-

It’s four days before Kent can manage to look at his phone long enough to check text messages instead of just receive calls and then dim the screen again. Most of them are from people he’s already talked to, so he doesn’t worry too much about the ones from his teammates or his family.

The only one that stands out is from a number that he doesn’t have saved. It’s not a question of who sent it, though, not when the message only says I didn’t know or I would have tried to warn you.

Jack, then. Kent is surprised by the basic courtesy, that Jack would even bother to remember his old bondmate and what his newfound happiness undoubtedly means for Kent.

He doesn’t have a response to that, so he just saves the number, squinting at the screen even while it’s dimmed as far as possible.

Light is the worst for the hypersensitivity, though nothing else is much better. Taste is the easiest to accommodate, because it’s not like it’s hard to make food bland with the meal plan their nutritionist has provided. The sound thing hasn’t been too bad since he bought noise-canceling headphones and listens to white noise continuously.

Jack’s words are nice, but Kent isn’t inclined to believe him. It’s not like Jack knows how a severed bond feels, continuously reaching out for something that isn’t there. The definition of a phantom limb, because the memory has lived on longer than their bond ever did. If Jack did know how a severed bond felt, maybe Kent could trust in his words then, but then Jack wouldn’t have been able to bond again, so thinking about that is really an exercise in futility.

The official story is that it’s a concussion, because they left it up to him as to whether he wanted to go public with the severed bond. Kent choose to keep it quiet, because he doesn’t want the kind of attention that might bring.

Plus, there would of course be speculation as to who the severed bond was with. And if they get a timeline in place, it’d be the easiest thing to find out. Jack doesn’t want that kind of attention either, especially not with the blame that would be piled on him from having the bond repaired. At least Kent would get pitied if the truth came out, probably. It’s one thing to have a broken bond that heals with time, and something totally different to repair your own bond and leave someone else’s severed.

Even the team has been informed it’s a concussion. Everyone except Swoops, that is, who was the one in the room when he’d told their trainer it was the bond that hurt, not his head.

Swoops figures it pretty quickly, because he was there for Kent’s rookie year and has seen more than enough to make the connection. He doesn’t beat around the bush, kicking his legs onto Kent’s coffee table the day after Kent has agreed to visitors, and asking, “It’s Zimmermann, isn’t it?”

It is, but the real story probably isn’t as dramatic has Swoops is thinking. Kent nods, trying to keep the movement as small as possible. His head aches because he tried lifting the blackout curtains earlier in the morning, and his neighbor’s dog woke him up by barking.

“He knows what he did, right?” Swoops asks, and Kent gives another nod as he tries not to think about it. “So money really can buy everything, I guess,” he sneers, sounding almost disgusted by the thought.

“It wasn’t like that,” Kent protests, because it was an unintended consequence if Jack’s story is to be believed. And he supposes that it probably sounds believable enough, that Jack and Bob almost surely trust in their version of events because they didn’t know any better. Of course they trusted whatever the doctor said, a doctor who would later retire after too many malpractice investigations.

He knows that they didn’t know any better, that there wasn’t a lot of research into severed bonds until the twenty-first century anyway and most of it has been within the last ten years. So maybe the doctor didn’t know what he would cause by speeding the recovery, but Jack’s fixed and Kent is never going to be.

Swoops scoffs, scratching at Kit’s ears as she walks over his lap on her way to sit next to Kent. “What was it like, then?”

Closing his eyes and touching Kit gently, concentrating on how her fur feels as he strokes her, Kent tells him what information he has secondhand from the Zimmermanns. “It was an experimental procedure. They didn’t know that this would be a side effect.”

Nowadays, it would be common knowledge. The fastest that a broken bond can be medically mended safely is six months, and that’s only with both members of the bond seeking treatment. Most bonds take around a year to a year and a half to heal naturally. Trying to heal a bond on one side only results in a severed bond for the other member. At the time, the research still showed that, but there wasn’t enough to be conclusive evidence. Anyway, the Zimmermann’s weren’t overly concerned with how Kent would be affected at the time.

On the other end of the couch, Swoops clears his throat like he’s going to say something, something important. Kent winces, the expression only slightly exaggerated as he hopes that Swoops doesn’t talk about it anymore. Kent has to think about it all day, because the only things that he can think about are the pain and the cause of the pain, and he’d really rather not have to talk about it more than necessary.

“Don’t stretch yourself too thin, Parser. We’ll rack up some wins for you and you can recover in the offseason in peace,” Swoops says finally, scratching Kit behind the ears and he stands and grabs his keys from the coffee table. “I’m going to head to skate, do you want me to bring any of the guys by later?”

Kent thinks it over before shaking his head. “No, I’m probably going to be taking a nap when you guys finish.” He’s so exhausted that he honestly might to go sleep as soon as Swoops is out the door.

Swoops nods, pausing at the door. “I’ll see you, Parse,” he says, a level of gravity in his tone that Kent hadn’t known to expect, even with what they’d been talking about.

Kent could take the curiosity if people found out, the types of questions he’d get in interviews that wouldn’t even be remotely related to hockey. Those things are to be expected, and they wouldn’t be too hard to manage. It’s the pity that drives him up the wall. He lifts his hand slightly from the couch as an acknowledgement, forcing a smile to go with the gesture.

-x-

Jack calls after a few weeks have gone by and Kent hasn’t texted him back. Kent isn’t expecting it, because everyone that he talks to knows by now that he’ll call if he’s feeling well enough. Over three weeks in, he really wishes he felt well enough more often.

“You got Parse,” he answers after feeling out for the phone on the mattress.

“Parse,” Jack says, his voice almost unfamiliar over the phone after this long. Kent squints at the caller ID and then blacks the screen out quickly once he’s seen. “How are you doing?”

If Kent could suffer in peace, that would be better than his old bond mate calling to see how bad the damage is. “Not great,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. It’s not like the Aces have released anything to say that his ‘concussion’ is getting better. If anything, the symptoms have gotten worse in the past couple of days, though it’s not like he has any idea why.

Huffing, Jack says, “Obviously. No, I actually want to know how you’re doing.” He pauses and then admits, “I read some stuff about it, and it doesn’t sound pleasant.”

Well, no, pleasant isn’t the first word Kent would use if he had to describe it. “I haven’t been able to stand up in two days without vomiting and I bought blackout curtains that work well enough that my circadian rhythm is basically running backwards,” he says, because that’s a basic enough description of what he’s been going through. It doesn’t mention that he’s almost crippled from the pain, but that’s just kind of a given at this point.

The silence only lasts for a few seconds, Jack apparently trying to find something to say in response. “I didn’t realize that I was going to bond or else I would have told you. Sometimes it just happens, you know,” is the best that he can come up with.

Kent does know. He remembers meeting Jack and the bond snapping into place, sudden and instantaneous. He sighs and turns the volume on his phone down. “Congrats, by the way. On your new bond.”

Hesitantly, Jack thanks him. “I appreciate it. Bittle and I have been trying to work out what this means for where he’ll be staying during the season. I’m just glad that Samwell isn’t too far from Providence.”

Kent doesn’t mean to think too hard about it, but it’s so obvious that it would be hard to miss. He would need to be actively trying to not realize what Jack is telling me. “So you’re telling me,” he starts, twitching involuntarily, “that you knew him before you bonded? And you couldn’t have given me a head’s up instead of letting me go down in the middle of a playoff game?” Bile rises his throat, and the pounding in his head that never goes away has only gotten stronger as Kent thinks about being saved the publicity that came with being carried off the ice in a stretcher.

“I didn’t realize we were going to bond, Kent. It happened right after my graduation. You know sometimes these things take a while,” he announces, because apparently he’s trying to be pious or something else that doesn’t fit him.

Fine, if Jack’s going to take those kinds of shots, he’d better be ready for Kent to hit back.

“I don’t know, actually. I’m never going to know. Because I’m never going to be able to bond again,” Kent snaps, his stomach rolling. He can’t take it anymore and sets the phone down on the mattress as he leans off his bed and pulls the trashcan towards himself. The faint echo of Jack’s voice can be heard, high with indignation, as Kent empties his stomach.

By the time that Kent picks up the phone again, Jack seems to be coming down from whatever high ground he’s been holding onto. “…told to do. We talked it over with the doctor, who said it was a safe option that would fix the bond so that I could focus on my rehab and be ready to practice again. A doctor told us that, Kent, were we supposed to look around to get every other opinion possible?” he demands, clearly letting loose with something that’s been bothering him for a while.

Kent doesn’t know what other doctors would have told them, but he suspects any doctor who had learned about severed bonds would have been able to identify that procedure as having the significant potential to cause one.

Jack breathes heavily, almost panting with effort. “Is that what you would have done?” he asks, and this doesn’t seem harsh or stern or like he’s trying to force Kent to understand his side. It’s just a question, something he’s probably wondered since he learned about the severed bond.

Truthfully? There’s no way of knowing what Kent would have done. “I don’t know,” he admits, watching as Kit slinks into the room and jumps on his nightstand. “We can’t know what would have happened if I was in that situation. All I know is you were, and you made that decision, and now I’m stuck like this.”

For a few blissful moments, Jack is silent, and then he whispers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want this for you.”

Something savage twists in Kent’s gut as he thinks it over, the part of this that he truly can’t find believable now that he knows. “You knew him, and you didn’t even have a clue? Nothing to the point that made you think about that you might want to let your old bond mate know, because you know that he’s going to go into unspeakable pain when it happens? Christ, Jack, you’ve never exactly been someone I’d call sensitive, but this is a different level.” Breathing out through his nose and almost afraid of the answer, Kent questions, “How long did you know him for?

Jack doesn’t answer for long enough that Kent is starting to wonder whether the call got dropped, and then Jack admits, “Two years. I didn’t know, Kent.”

Some part of that must be true. Or Kent wants it to be true, because he’s never not going to be completely broken open when it comes to Jack. He doesn’t know how much better about it he would be even if the bond hadn’t been severed. “You didn’t know, or you didn’t want to?” he asks, quiet.

The emotion in Jack’s voice is almost unidentifiable as Jack whispers, “I’m so sorry, Kent.”

-x-

He always goes home for the offseason, but this year he doesn’t know how that’s going to happen. If he can’t handle daylight, there’s no way he could handle a crowded airport. Turbulence would be so awful that it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

He’s been able to start going outside at night over the last few days, and as long as he’s using the noise-canceling headphones it isn’t that bad. More of his teammates have been over to see him, and while it’s clear they’re all upset to have left the third round empty-handed, they’re also happy to see him doing better.

Swoops stays after everyone has left, and they sit on the balcony for a while.

“You know, there are rumors that Crosby has a severed bond,” Swoops starts, apropos of nothing.

Kent knows that they’re not even in the same conference as the Penguins, but gossip gets around the League like a phone tree of sorority girls. He’d have heard of that one by now. “Just because he stated he doesn’t have an interest in bonding doesn’t mean he’s irreparably damaged. I’ve told you before, he’s really not even that weird off the ice.”

Rolling his eyes, Swoops doesn’t even comment on that. “It’s his concussion timetable. That recovery was longer than anyone knew to expect, and the ups and downs behaved like a severed bond. Plus, people think he might have actually been fully recovered when he started back and the reasons the symptoms re-emerged is because the original bond mate bonded again.” He shrugs, finishing off his beer. “It doesn’t seem that far-fetched once you start looking into it.”

Maybe not, but Kent isn’t going to start believing in conspiracy theories just because a couple of things match up. “Good for him, then. May I be as successful after my atonement as he is,” he says, lifting his glass of water up in a toast.

Swoops narrows his eyes and says in disbelief, “Your atonement?”

That’s what Kent has been calling it in his head, but he can see how it might sound a little messed up to someone else. It’s the punishment that Kent gets for the bond breaking in the first place, for not being good enough to keep it healthy and whole.

He doesn’t know how to best explain it, but he doesn’t have to. In the distance a siren sounds, and Kent curls into himself as Swoops snatches up the headphones from where they’ve been sitting on the table between them. Once those get situated, Swoops pauses to presumably listen for anything else before he carefully lifts one of the earpieces up. “One step forward, two steps back?” he tries, giving a sad kind of smile.

Kent raises his water glass again, and when Swoops clinks his beer bottle against it in solidarity he doesn’t even wince.

-x-

By the time that the NHL awards come around, Kent isn’t feeling well enough to go, but he does feel well enough to have some people over. The usual suspects: Quincy who was nominated for the Vezina and lost out to Price, Jeff who snagged the Norris handily enough against Karlsson and Subban, and a few other members of the team.

He won the Hart, and he guesses at some point he’ll have to call his agent to figure out when he’ll be good enough for a photo op. The thought of a flashing camera makes him shiver, though.

“We’re looking forward to you being out there again,” Jeff says, uncharacteristically serious as he helps Kent grab drinks for people.

Kent is looking forward to being back, too. It’s been a little over a month and he’s almost at the point where he can take the blackout curtains down. It hasn’t been that bad recently, but he doesn’t want to jinx it. “I’ll be there soon enough,” he says, because that’s the only promise he can make them.

Grabbing ice from the freezer, he admits, “I’m just glad I’m feeling well enough to go home.” It’s a night flight so that he doesn’t have to worry about lights, but it will be worth the risk just to be back with his family.

Jeff claps a hand on his shoulder and nods. “Go home, get some rest, and get better. However long it takes you, that’s how long you need, so don’t worry about rushing anything.” He’s probably speaking from experience, considering the concussion that kept him out a month and prevented him from going to the All Star game.

It’s hard, though, to think that the two month timetable that Dr. Vance gave him initially is probably too optimistic. His balance isn’t to where he’ll be skating anytime soon, especially not with light reflecting at him from the ice.

“You guys just have to keep the team together until I can come back,” he announces, and even as he says it he hopes he’ll be back sooner rather than later. Having the guys over is a good enough way of keeping up with them, he guesses, but he misses the locker room and seeing them more often.

Arching an eyebrow, Jeff glances into the living room, where Kent can hear someone start asking for shots. That in itself seems to convey what an impossible job it is, but Jeff doesn’t say that he won’t do it, just shoulders Kent out of the way as he grabs glasses from one of the cabinets and snags a bottle of liquor without even stopping to read the label first.

-x-

If the bond had healed properly, Kent is pretty sure that he and Jack wouldn’t be able to stand each other. Both of them acting the part of the jilted lover and blaming the other for everything, or something along those lines.

The point is, they wouldn’t have tolerated each other better than any other pair who were once bond mates. The severed bond has changed things, though, neither of them can deny.

It’s not like they talk often, but when Kent calls Jack always picks up out of some sense of guilt he’s never going to be able to shake off whereas with a naturally healed bond they’d probably just be better off never speaking again.

Kent is actually bound to Jack, and in turn Jack feels bound to Kent for causing all of this in the first place. It’ll probably just mean that Jack will try to be aware of himself on the ice and invite Kent out to get dinner after their first game together, where they’ll pretend it’s totally normal for ex-bond mates to see each other with any regularity and still get along.

It’s going to be awkward. Kent suspects they’ll probably only do it once before they start coming up with excuses that will be almost blatant.

They don’t talk often. More than they should, probably, considering that it’d be better if they didn’t talk to each other at all, but it’s not like Kent calls with any regularity. He doesn’t even know how long Jack had his new number before he sent that text after the bond shifted into place.

Before the bond was severed, back when it had just broken, Kent remembers it feeling sore and uncomfortable, an aching that wouldn’t leave him alone and sometimes kept him up at night. More painful in the first week but easy to adjust to when it faded to something much more subdued and manageable. Broken bonds aren’t difficult to recover from, they just take a long time.

Jack claims that his broken bond was worse than that. He agrees with the ache, but he says that it felt like the first day of having wisdom teeth removed, when you’ve gotten off schedule with the painkillers. More prominent, less difficult to ignore, something all consuming.

It could be that he’s right and Kent doesn’t remember it being as painful as it was because he’s had to live with something so much worse for so long now.

The pain isn’t completely debilitating anymore. It still hurts like hell, especially first thing in the morning and the last thing at night, when he doesn’t any anything else to think about. During the day, though, it’s gotten much easier to think about other things rather than how much he’d like to lie down and never move again. It’s not like recovering from the initial severed bond was easy, exactly, but that pain is now a memory whereas this one is a continuous feeling.

He doesn’t hate Jack, sometimes the decision makes sense to him when he looks at how it must have been presented to the Zimmermanns. It’s hard to remember that he doesn’t hate Jack, though, when he thinks about the fact that Jack got shipped off to a rehab center where they got all of his little problems in check and fixed his bond for good measure. He got stitched up and someone dressed the wound and made sure everything came out fine for him.

From the papers Kent has read, people who have had bonds medically repaired say that they aren’t sure what that bond felt like anymore. Their memories about the bond don’t seem right anymore. It’s like the slate was wiped clean, never to have been marred in the first place.

Jack doesn’t even have a scar and Kent will never be able to stop the bleeding. Something like that is never going to be fair in any sense.

-x-

The first time he’s able to get back on the ice is right before the preseason at the end of September, and he’s there before any of the guys show up to practice. It’s mostly just skating without a purpose, maybe a drill or two at the end, but it feels amazing to be back.

The ice feels perfect, which is ridiculous considering the measures they have to take to get it like this in Vegas in September. Kent can’t be bothered that they aren’t letting him do anything too strenuous, because at least he’s moving back to full workouts in the gym. Plus, he can’t find a way to be mad about much when he’s gliding across the ice for the first time in months.

In the locker room, the guys are glad to see him, the mood picking up even higher when they see him getting off the ice. It’s been a long offseason, and Kent is always glad to see his boys, so he hangs around and sees them off to the ice.

He’s in such a good mood that he even stops for a few reporters who are hanging around practice, despite the fact that he’s mostly been given a free pass when it comes to interviews until he’s completely ready to return in a full-contact capacity.

“Hey guys,” he greets them, sitting down to untie his skates after going for a single lap with Swoops and some of the guys. It’s a few familiar faces, people he’s done interviews with before, no one that he has a problem with. No one who’s gone against the rule that the Aces PR team sets up for interviews, at least.

He gets a couple of nods and some half-smiles, and then Mara, the one who’s been covering the Aces for the longest arches an eyebrow at him and throws out, “Want to talk for a bit?” It’s clear she doesn’t expect him to bite, even as a few of the others look up with interest.

What the hell, it’s been a good day. “Sure,” Kent agrees, twisting his cap around as he settles in for some questions.

Mara grins as she saunters over, the rest of them following in her wake. Reporters travel in packs, something that Kent has come to realize after how much media he’s done. “Good to see you back. How are you feeling?” she asks, sitting near him and flipping a recorder on, holding it out to him.

“I’m doing good, happy to be able to get out on the ice again. I definitely missed it,” he confesses.

She smiles kindly, pressing, “This is the first time you’ve been on the ice since sustaining the concussion in Game 3 against the Blues, then.”

“It took a while for my symptoms to die down, and we wanted to make sure it was safe before I came back,” Kent agrees, thinking for the first time about how weird it must have been that he collapsed on the ice without being hit. Their PR team must have had a wild time trying to explain that one, not that they knew it was actually any different than the official reason.

The other reporters start asking questions after Mara has thrown him a few softballs, and Kent remembers why he’s never been a fan of huge interviews without a media handler when they start in on him.

“Kent, do you think that your extended absence will be detrimental to your team in the beginning of the season? You said you don’t think you’ll be cleared for full contact for a bit,” a short man with a buzz cut interjects, and he’s a little more aggressive with his tape reporter than Mara had been when he practically shoves it under Kent’s nose.

“The team has had to play without me before, and we believe in just playing the next man up,” he announces, echoing everything that Coach Hutchinson has said about the matter. “They do just fine.”

The man gives a sly grin and then asks, “Would you say that you’ve put off getting ready for the season?”

That might be the dumbest thing he’s ever been asks, but Kent tries to answer it without sounding too annoyed. “I have been fully focused on my recovery and getting back on the ice these last few months. I always want to be out there, but my health is more important.” The only saving grace is that even Mara looks pissed, shooting him a sympathetic glance.

He looks away from the guy, spotting a new girl who’s kind of on the outskirts of the group, fiddling with her recorder. Probably an intern for a local paper that doesn’t care about hockey but could use the filler piece anyway. He waits for her to look up and then tries to smile encouragingly.

She colors momentarily and then clears her throat. “Mr. Parson,” she starts, so definitely an intern then, Jesus Christ, “many people have tried to say that the Aces’s main rivals are the Falconers since both teams came with the same expansion, but you’ve said in the past that it’s hard to think about a rivalry split between the conferences. Do you feel differently about the Falconers since your old teammate Jack Zimmermann signed to them in April?”

His face probably flinches before settling back into the media-approved façade that he traditionally keeps on. It’s a good thing that this isn’t being filmed. “I’ve never felt like Jack and I have been rivals, but I can say that I’m looking forward to beating him,” he jokes, faking a laugh to go with it.

Mara jumps in, then, tacking on, “Your career has always been seen to be linked with Jack Zimmermann’s since the 2009 draft, when Zimmermann withdrew and you went to the Aces. How does it feel now that he’s entering the League after what he’s been through?”

It feels like he’s going to wake up one morning to find his biggest regret staring at him from across the face-off dot.

The second part of the question registers a moment later. “He’s been through a lot,” he starts automatically, the lie coming through without having to think about it. He got a few of these questions in April, but he guesses people were mostly worried about the playoffs then and right now the preseason is the only news. “I’m really glad he’s been able to make it. He’s a tough guy,” he answers, capping it off with a media smile.

Jack went through rehab and eventually made it into the NHL, yes, but Kent is the one who literally lost a piece of his soul and has been playing without it since.

The reporters, Mara included, start scratching notes at that, which means it’s time for him to get out. Standing carefully so as to not nudge them, he announces, “I’m going to head out and watch practice. The guys are really coming together and I’m excited to see what we can do this year.”

Tape recorders start flipping off, all of them absorbed in their future story now that he’s given them what they want, and Kent walks past them in a trance. No one seems to notice that he goes out the exit instead of going to watch his team on the ice.


End file.
